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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023431">We Are the Music Makers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/afhyer/pseuds/afhyer'>afhyer</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perhapsormaybe/pseuds/Perhapsormaybe'>Perhapsormaybe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Community: Do It With Style Events, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, It's soft fluff, M/M, Music makers AU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:14:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29023431</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/afhyer/pseuds/afhyer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perhapsormaybe/pseuds/Perhapsormaybe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe, Crowley and Aziraphale attend the same music school together. Crowley is saved from a musical instrument avalanche by Aziraphale and immediately starts pining. But once out of school and working together, would it be unprofessional of him to make a move on the cute song writer and pianist?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Human AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. It Starts at School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Reverse Bang for Do It With Style Events. I worked with the amazing Afhyer on this, who did the art and contributed ideas and feedback. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Today felt like a saxophone day. Last week Crowley had been trying his hand at trombone and, aside from the humor it offered in knocking that stupid hat they always wore off Beelzebub's head, he wasn't caring for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It's not like he'd been accepted at Elysian – the premier music school in all of England - for playing any instruments. But it made sense to try to learn one. Some of his friends kept bugging him for being <em>just</em> a singer. And he thought he'd look pretty cool with a tenor sax in hand. First he should probably learn a bit about jazz music, though. He, Beelzebub and Hastur where digging through the instrument cases, trying to find him a good one. The best practice was to rent until you were sure you were going to keep with it. Especially in the case of someone like Crowley, who was by nature nothing short of mercurial.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He, Hastur and Beelzebub had all gone into the storage room to poke about and see what they could find. Technically they were allowed – technically. It was left unlocked, but you were supposed to clear it with Monsieur Forte, the head professor, first. The storage room had several shelves of instruments, some in cases and some haphazardly thrown onto the shelves. Most of them were damaged in some way or another.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just a bunch of garbage,” Beelzebub said dismissively. They played trumpet and didn't seem to think highly of any other instruments.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hastur nodded his agreement. “None of these are worth it. They're all dented since they're just cast offs and school instruments. Stop being cheap, pick an instrument and buy your own.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I could borrow yours,” Crowley suggested with a smirk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You get within a meter of my French Horn and I'll make myself a new one out of your bones.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can't imagine that one would have good sound quality,” Crowley said with a shrug, opening another case. Alto saxophone. He just couldn't picture himself with one – it was too small, made him feel ridiculous. No, he needed a proper tenor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you lot have permission to be here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley jumped at the sound of the stern voice behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh stuff it, Aziraphale,” Beelzebub said. “We've got as much a right to be here as you do.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I </em><span> have permission from Monsieur Forte to be in here. And you,” Aziraphale's attention was on Crowley, “Need to be careful – that shelf isn't stable.”</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley ignored him and continued to reach up to the top shelf, trying to get at a case that was just out of his reach. He only realized his mistake when he heard a snap. He winced and moved his hands to cover his face, but felt himself get pushed out of the way of the avalanche of musical instrument cases. He was on the floor, but he was unharmed. Aziraphale had pushed him out of the way at the right moment, and was still on top of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well?” Aziraphale said expectantly, not moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I told you it was unstable. Do you feel quite proud of yourself for this mess?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'll clean it up,” Crowley pushed his upper body up, but couldn't push himself to standing. Aziraphale was still on top of him, pinning him down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You'll do no such thing,” Aziraphale snapped. “Your friends here can do it. You need to go to the infirmary. You need to be checked out to make certain you don't have a concussion,” Aziraphale put his face close to Crowley's, trying to look into his eyes behind his sunglasses. Crowley felt a blush creep into his cheeks. “You hit your head rather hard on the way down. And while I suspect your head may be empty, we need the nurse to make certain there's no permanent damage.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right,” Crowley agreed. “But I can't go to the nurse until you get off of me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, dear, I'm sorry!” Aziraphale jumped to his feet, then helped Crowley up, his expression softening. “I'll help you over there, of course.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh. Uh. Thanks. I'm Crowley, by the way,” It seemed a waste to go through all that for nothing, so Crowley scooped up the tenor saxophone case, opening it to make certain it was really the instrument he'd been looking for. Success there, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I'm Aziraphale.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated. “That's Hastur and Beelzebub,” he waved his hand in his friends' direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beelzebub and I are acquainted,” Aziraphale said icily. Beelzebub returned the glare, but to Crowley's surprise they did start picking up cases and putting them back where they belonged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We had a class together,” Beelzebub explained. “He thinks I'm the one who put peanut butter on the piano keys right before his big solo.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley made a mental note to ask Beelzebub later if they really had done it – it wouldn't be out of character for them. Crowley started to collect his things, staggering a bit under the weight. He'd taken out multiple books on music theory in hopes of something jumping out at him. Aziraphale frowned and pulled all of the books and the instrument away, stacking them in his own arms to carry them. “It's probably best if you don't carry so much right now.” Aziraphale had apparently come to borrow some books from Monsieur Forte, as he now scooped a stack of at least five additional books and added it to Crowley's haul.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley tried not to gape. He failed. Aziraphale was a bit round in the middle, but he still looked the sort you could bowl over with a feather. But he was now carrying several of his own books, and Crowley's plus the tenor saxophone in its case and seemed unbothered by the weight. Crowley seized the saxophone back. “I can handle this, at least. Promise.”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale just shrugged in response, then jerked his head to indicate Crowley was to follow him. “Well then, off to the nurse we pop. Need to get you checked out.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. You were right. Thank you for walking me over here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You're quite welcome,” Aziraphale beamed at him. “So what are you here for? You were looking through brass instruments, so ...trumpet player?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley made a face. “Hardly. Singer, actually.” Crowley had to speed up a bit to keep up with Aziraphale, who even carrying so many things was practically zooming off in the direction of the nurse. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, lovely! I'm a pianist, though I figure Beelzebub already gave that away. And I compose a bit.” Aziraphale knocked at the infirmary door. The nurse answered and Aziraphale gave her the run down of what had happened. She gave a perfunctory once over to Crowley and declared him fine before shutting the door. Aziraphale glared after her. “Quite rude, if you ask me. I'm no specialist, but I suspect she should have checked your head at least.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nah, it's fine. Nothing going on up there,” he knocked at his head to demonstrate. “See? Completely hollow.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale chuckled. “So it is. But you must let me accompany you back to your room. I'm still a bit worried.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I uh... Yeah, sure. You know, if you'd like.” Crowley was pretty sure he was playing it cool. He adjusted his sunglasses self consciously. Actually, now he was pretty sure he looked like a complete idiot in front of this very cute, very helpful guy. Still, he tried to portray self confidence, leading the way back to his dorm room. “Well. This is my stop. Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Think nothing of it, just glad you're all right,” Aziraphale let himself in and set the books down on Crowley's desk. Then he sorted through them to find his own books. “May next time we meet be under better circumstances.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Heh. Yeah. I'll try not to drop any shelves on anyone, promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, who could ask for more?” They both stood staring at each other. Crowley felt like he was supposed to do something or say something else, but for the life of him couldn't figure out what it was. Instead, he settled for “Thanks. You're an angel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Audition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's been a while since Crowley's seen Aziraphale. Now a barista desperate to land a singing gig, maybe he'll run into someone he knows at the audition</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the art piece that started it. Afhyer has once again done a wonderful job creating beautiful art. Hope you enjoy this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been years since Crowley had graduated from Elysium. He found singing work wherever he could, but the fact was it wasn't easy to make a career of it. He'd taken odd jobs here and there, mostly ending up in restaurants and coffee shops. He hated it, but he'd become a cliché.</p>
<p>So when a regular at his current coffee shop had dropped their audition paper he'd seized the chance. All it said was that a club was seeking a new singer. Nothing else except an address. No requests based on gender (that was nice; he'd found quickly most clubs wanted females only – if you presented as male it was harder to get the work.)</p>
<p>The audition was only a few nights away, so he chose to take a few days off to prepare. He was driving his neighbor nuts with scales and warm ups night and day, but he couldn't help it – it wasn't his fault the only place he could afford had walls so thin you could puncture through one side of the wall to another with a sewing needle. He skipped lunch one day to have enough to buy some new sheet music, figuring that if this place was any kind of upscale they probably wouldn't like him bringing photo copied or illegally downloaded music with him.</p>
<p>When the day came he dressed up in his second nicest outfit (he had a suit but that seemed a bit too much, and besides, the thing was itchy) and started the walk to the club.</p>
<p>It was one of those jazz places. Normally it would have people coming in and out, but it was almost exclusively a night venue. So it made sense that auditions would be held during the day when there weren't any patrons to worry about. Still, going to a club in the middle of the day and with only a handful of other people (all clearly hopeful singers as well) made Crowley feel out of sorts.</p>
<p>He watched a previous singer come out of the audition room and throw her hands up. “If you brought your own sheet music you have to trash it – he insisted I sing something he wrote. Wouldn't even let me try my own stuff.”</p>
<p>“Is his music good?” Crowley asked, wondering if this was just a tactic for her to throw the others off. It wouldn't be the first time he'd heard of a hopeful auditioner messing with other hopefuls' heads.</p>
<p>“I mean, it's fine,” She seemed surprised by the question. “But I wasn't prepared for it and I told him so and he didn't even let me try to sing after that!”</p>
<p>“Next!” Came a familiar sounding voice. Crowley cocked his head to the side as he tried to place it. It was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't figure it out. He started to crumple his sheet music but thought better of it. After all, he'd paid for the damn thing. He couldn't force whomever he was auditioning for to let Crowley sing what he'd come prepared for but it would still be a waste to toss it in the bin.</p>
<p>Crowley was the very last one in the line. He waited impatiently, fidgeting with his phone, tapping his fingers against his leg. Doing anything except sitting still. He noted that each person who left all shared the same frustrated look as the first woman – though he'd heard a few of them manage to get some notes out. They'd all sounded good, but none had been able to finish so much as a stanza.</p>
<p>“Name?” The voice sounded bored. Crowley pushed the door open to find a familiar man with white hair sitting at the piano. “Name?” He repeated, holding up a clipboard expectantly. He didn't even bother to look up.</p>
<p>“Oh. Uhm. I'm not on the list.”</p>
<p>The man sighed. “Well, it's not like any of the ones on the list did well enough. Name?”</p>
<p>“Crowley. Anthony J Crowley.”</p>
<p>“Crowley?” The way the voice turned from boredom to delight gave Crowley whiplash. “A fellow Elysium alum! Finally, someone who may be able to do what I need-”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale?” The name finally fell into place. Crowley felt embarrassed – he'd spent months after that visit to the nurse trying to orchestrate chances to bump into Aziraphale. Somehow they'd kept missing each other. Crowley had given up on the crush – well, more like he'd been forced to since Aziraphale graduated a year before him and Crowley hadn't seen him since. Until now.</p>
<p>“Yes, here,” Aziraphale shoved a sheet of music at him. “Take a few moments to learn it. I can't just give you the job, you have to audition like anyone else.”</p>
<p>Crowley nodded his understanding and studied the notes and words for a moment. He did what he always had – envisioned the story behind the words, letting that guide him to how it would make the most sense to sing, whether he needed to be mournful, happy, excited or any other number of emotions and whether that would change over the course of the song. He found it helped him to successfully hit most, if not all, of the notes. “Ready when you are.”</p>
<p>“Ready. Do you want a count in?”</p>
<p>Crowley shook his head no, tapping out the rhythm on his hip as he waited for the part of the song where the lyrics would come in. It was an upbeat jazzy number to listen to the music, but the actual lyrics were depressing and soulful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Well you left ten years ago today</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And I thought I'd be right as rain</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But you know what those people say - </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They tell me I gotta live with the pain</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>And it takes me back to me and you,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And it takes me back to where we were</em>
</p>
<p><em>I want</em> –</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Aziraphale stopped playing, staring at him instead. He looked shocked for a moment, before breaking out into an enormous grin. “That was excellent, Anthony.”</p>
<p>“Crowley.”</p>
<p>“Crowley, yes, of course. The job is yours. It's an every night sort of affair, I hope that's all right. We'll discuss pay before you start. I have some paper work you'll need to fill out of course.”</p>
<p>“Someone break your heart, Angel?”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry?”</p>
<p>“These lyrics – they're not bad, it's just a bit sadder than I would have expected from you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, not that. I was wondering about the angel thing?”</p>
<p>Crowley felt himself flush. “Er- it's just after that time you saved me from that shelf collapsing I called you that in my mind. So it just sort of...stuck.”</p>
<p>“You were thinking of me?”</p>
<p>The silence grew between them until it became so uncomfortable that Crowley couldn't bear it anymore. “Anyway,” He said to try to bring them back on track. “Are there any other songs I should learn?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you'll mostly be singing old standards. But I,” It was Aziraphale's turn to blush. “Well, you see I also sometimes debut my new songs here and needed to make certain I had someone who could handle it. Madame Tracy may own the place but she gives me quite a bit of freedom to play around with my own compositions when I wish.”</p>
<p>“Very generous of her,” Crowley offered.</p>
<p>“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale agreed. “I've been here a few years now and I had to work to gain the trust, but it was worth it. Though I do tire of playing Piano Man – don't get me wrong, I quite like Billy Joel but playing it a few times a night every time Madame Tracy decides it's time for karaoke night? It gets boring.”</p>
<p>“Did you want to get lunch?”</p>
<p>Crowley hadn't remembered deciding to offer that. He was also down to his last few dollars, so it was a particularly stupid idea right now.</p>
<p>“Well, while I'm not your employer it does seem congratulations are in order, so yes! Though you must let me treat you.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” Crowley's mouth kept moving before his brain could catch up. His brain reminded him that he was starving and again, had very little money and barely any food at home. He couldn't turn down offers of free food. And offers of free food with a cute man? Stupid to say no, really.</p>
<p>“I insist.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale took him to a bistro and insisted on ordering for both of them. “I know, I know, but you really must trust me. The tea sandwiches sound like they'd be tiny but it's an excellent spread, probably too much food, really.</p>
<p>Crowley's stomach growled in response. “Ngk. Sorry, I uh-”</p>
<p>“Quite alright,” Aziraphale brushed it off. “As I was saying, you'll be sent from here with leftovers.”</p>
<p>Crowley ordered a water, feeling rude to ask for anything else. Aziraphale had tsked at him and suggested that if he didn't drink alcohol the lemonade was splendid. Crowley shook his head. He'd love a glass of wine, really, but it seemed rude to accept. Aziraphale shrugged but didn't press.</p>
<p>They spent lunch time eating and catching up. Crowley explained how much he hated being a barista and Aziraphale commiserated – he'd done the same thing until lucking into the job at Madame Tracy's Jazz-a-Matazz (“dreadful name,” Aziraphale lamented, “I almost didn't go to my audition just because of that name” Crowley had agreed on the name but didn't find it the kind of deal break Aziraphale felt it could be.)</p>
<p>Aziraphale wiped his face daintily with a napkin when he finished eating and made sure to have the waitress split the leftovers into two take home boxes. “Don't worry too much. Normally these kinds of jobs don't pay well, but Madame Tracy takes care of her people.”</p>
<p>“Hold on. She's not the same one that owns the-”</p>
<p>Aziraphale's face turned an interesting shade of red. “She is. But I don't like to talk about that. It's her business, none of mine. She's quite open about it if you're curious, though. So you're welcome to ask her directly.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I was just wondering,” Crowley shrugged. The waitress set the check in front of him and he reached for it, feeling like it being placed there made it his obligation. He tried not to look too relieved when Aziraphale snatched it away from him.</p>
<p>“I told you, this is my treat.” He scanned the bill carefully then placed a few twenties inside before placing it back on the table. “It was lovely catching up with you. We'll need to get some practice done over the next few nights and uh...well, this is awkward.”</p>
<p>Crowley wondered momentarily if Aziraphale were about to admit this was all a joke. He didn't seem the type, but Crowley had been able to confirm that Beelzebub had, in fact, put peanut butter on Aziraphale's piano keys. And that Ligur had stolen some original sheet music. And Hastur, who lacked any sense of originality or tact had merely called Aziraphale any name he could think of. Crowley wasn't the biggest fan of his so-called 'friends' but the fact was he had hung out with them, even if it had been mostly out of boredom. He'd never been around to stop them, but that might not save him now if Aziraphale decided he wanted revenge.</p>
<p>“The thing is, while you're being hired to sing for the club the songs that I've written... we do them at the club sometimes, but mostly it's for a show I would like to put on one day. I fear it's not very forthright of me to be using Madame Tracy to find a singer who suits my own needs, but I figure if I must work with that person with other people's music they need to be comfortable with my music as well.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that's all right. I mean... I liked your song,” Crowley said truthfully. “I kind of like it when the tune and the lyrics are at odds with each other. The song sounded upbeat but the lyrics... you know.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, I like it as well. I'm glad you appreciate it. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership.” He offered his right hand to Crowley. Crowley took it and shook firmly.</p>
<p>“To the beginning of a partnership,” Crowley gave Aziraphale's hand a squeeze. Aziraphale squeezed back and Crowley was reminded of how strong the other man was. He rubbed at his now sore hand underneath the table.</p>
<p>“To new beginnings,” Aziraphale held up his glass of wine. Crowley clinked the glass with his own glass of water.</p>
<p>“To new beginnings.” He repeated.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Blessed Be the Music Makers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They are the Music Makers. And maybe, finally, after years of doing this together Crowley will finally make a move?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Bonus art at the bottom by afhyer of how Beelzebub and Hastur look in this universe! Mairzy Doats is a real song I was forced to sing in a show when I was little and it was so bizarre it stuck with me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>But do you see in me</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>What all we could be?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Do you understand now,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>With me standing before you</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Taking the bow,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Do you finally see what we're meant to be?</em>
</p>
<p>Crowley supposed he should be staring at the audience. He tried to. He really did. But every time he sang one of these love songs, immediately his eyes would flit to Aziraphale at his piano. And they'd stay there. The club was dark at night, even with him being lit up by spotlights, but he still felt he was being completely obvious.</p>
<p>It had been two years of this now.</p>
<p>He sang the old songs (on one memorable occasion “Mairzy Doats” but usually things like “Piano Man” or “Bohemian Rhapsody”) and he sang Aziraphale's new songs. But every song that mentioned love, whether it was happy or sad, about love loss or love gained Crowley would feel his eyes pulled almost magnetically to where Aziraphale sat.</p>
<p>Of course, Aziraphale was too lost in the music to be staring back. Plus Crowley was certain his love was unreciprocated. He'd been throwing out hints all these years and Aziraphale had brushed them off. Sure, they went to eat lunch together a few times a week but that was just as friends.</p>
<p>They never talked about their feelings. For all Crowley knew, Aziraphale already had a boyfriend (possibly girlfriend, but he suspected not.) They never talked about it. To be fair, Crowley never came right out with the words but he thought he was being obvious enough. He'd bought Aziraphale chocolates the last two Valentine's days for goodness' sake! He wasn't sure how to be more overt at this point. So he had to assume that Aziraphale just didn't feel the same way but couldn't bring himself to officially turn Crowley down.</p>
<p>“Lovely as always,” While Crowley was lost in his thoughts, Aziraphale had crossed the stage and was whispering in his ear. Crowley felt his cheeks grow hot. “My dear, it is the end of the set, though, so we should clear off. Madam Tracy hired that other band – that Adam and the Warlocks thing,” he made a face. “Scream-y bebop if you ask me.”</p>
<p>Crowley chuckled. “So you mentioned before. C'mon, then, let's get out of here.”</p>
<p>“Your place, then, or mine?”</p>
<p>Crowley felt his jaw drop. He'd only meant for them to clear the stage, not to necessarily leave together.</p>
<p>“Your place is closer. We could order some sushi!” Aziraphale hurried off the stage, still making plans for the both of them. Crowley followed after him, wondering what was going on. They'd been to one another's places before but that had always been to work on things. Aziraphale liked getting feed back on songs immediately and seemed to only trust Crowley's input.</p>
<p>“I'll drive,” Crowley offered. Over the past year a relative had passed, leaving Crowley a Bentley – it was Crowley's most prized possession. Aziraphale hated it. Thought it urged Crowley to speed more. The truth of it was Crowley sped no matter what car he was driving. He just looked cooler doing it in the Bentley.</p>
<p>Aziraphale made a face, but still nodded his agreement. With everything settled they both went to pack up their things and then met by the Bentley in the employee parking lot behind the club.</p>
<p>“I'm putting in our order now, that way it will arrive around when we reach your place,” Aziraphale explained, poking at his phone. Crowley almost offered to do it for him (Aziraphale wasn't terribly good with technology) but decided against it. Aziraphale seemed to have it handled, after all. Even if it did take Aziraphale at least ten minutes longer to do anything on a phone than it took anyone else.</p>
<p>Aziraphale climbed in the passenger door and put his phone up. “All done!” he announced cheerfully. “They had that wine you like so I ordered some of that as well.”</p>
<p>“Ah. Thanks.”</p>
<p>“Of course, dear.”</p>
<p>Crowley bit his lip. He never heard Aziraphale call anyone else 'dear' but he still tried not to let himself read too much into it. It was probably just a term of affection for a close friend, he figured. Well, most of the time. There were those moments he let himself dream it meant more, but he always tried to shake himself out of it.</p>
<p>He put the car into gear and drove to his place, letting Aziraphale fiddle with the radio until he found something he liked (old jazz standards – something they could both agree on). Aziraphale sang along and Crowley tried not to smirk at him. Aziraphale's voice wasn't bad, per se, but the man couldn't quite hit the notes. But it was a very charming voice and Crowley liked listening to it.</p>
<p>All too soon they arrived at Crowley's apartment building. He parked and hurried around to open Aziraphale's door to let him out. He cursed himself while he did it. Could he be acting like any more of a love sick puppy? Really?</p>
<p>But there seemed to be something different about tonight. He'd resolved to finally just come out with his feelings. What better night than this? Aziraphale was in a good mood, they were about to have Aziraphale's favorite food with one of Crowley's favorite drinks. Their performance tonight had been well applauded and Aziraphale seemed to be close to securing funding to putting on his own show with only his own music.</p>
<p>Of course, Crowley figured, he could also end up ruining the mood right now and spoiling the whole night by making it about his own feelings. He wrestled with himself the whole way up the stairs to his flat, Aziraphale leading the way apparently not noticing the mental anguish that Crowley was in.</p>
<p>Crowley rushed around Aziraphale to unlock the door when they reached his flat and pushed the door open. “I can start tea while we wait on the food?”</p>
<p>“No need, it should be here in just a few more minutes. At least according to their app,” Aziraphale frowned at his phone. “Not sure how accurate it is, I'm afraid. Never tried this before, I always just call them. But this seemed to be the fastest way to get us going. Once we get our food we can finally talk. I have wonderful news!”</p>
<p>“Oh?”</p>
<p>“Nu-huh,” Aziraphale tsked at him, “I told you, not until we have our food and drink.” He beamed at Crowley and Crowley tried and failed to ignore his heart fluttering.</p>
<p>“So I can assume it's good news, then,” Crowley said unnecessarily. Well, of course it was. Okay, well, that settled it. Aziraphale could tell him the good news and then Crowley would finally, finally, FINALLY tell Aziraphale how he felt about him. And hope that if Aziraphale felt awkward that whatever good news it was would cushion it enough to stop things from growing awkward between them.</p>
<p>Crowley wished the food would hurry. He collapsed onto his couch, allowing himself to sink into it. Aziraphale took the lounger chair but sat up primly, occassionally checking his phone for signs the food was on its way. “Ah ha!” he finally exclaimed some minutes later. “It says the driver is outside the door!” he leaped up and threw the door open, causing the delivery person outside to jump and clutch at his heart.</p>
<p>“Blimey, you scared the shi---you scared me, sir,” The man said, handing over the bags of food. “I normally ask for id for drinks but uh, guess I don't need to.”</p>
<p>Crowley stifled a chuckle. He hadn't been carded for drinks in a long time and he knew on account of Aziraphale's white hair some people took him to be older than he actually was. He didn't find this offensive, though, merely handed the delivery guy a generous tip and told him to “mind yourself and keep out of trouble,” before closing the door.</p>
<p>He set the food out on the coffee table, two rolls in front of himself and one in front of Crowley. “I'll get the glasses,” He declared, hopping off to do just that. Crowley wondered when Aziraphale had become so comfortable being here. One who didn't know better might have assumed he lived there as well, the way he knew where everything was. He even knew better than Crowley most of the time. Aziraphale returned with the glasses and poured them both drinks, handing one off to Crowley before taking a sip of his own.</p>
<p>“There we are.”</p>
<p>“There we are,” Crowley repeated. “Now for the good news?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale took a bite of his sushi and closed his eyes to savor it, wiggling as he did so. Crowley watched him carefully and resisted the urge to lick his lips. Kissing the soy sauce off of Aziraphale sounded like a good idea right now but he had to keep himself in check.</p>
<p>“Well, dear boy,” Aziraphale said once he'd swallowed his bite. “We're all set. I have a place for our first performance. I've written enough songs and, with Madam Tracy backing us in addition to a few others, everything is taken care of. I was even able to secure a few other musicians for backing us. I'm not the biggest fan of that Beelzebub, but I have to admit they were good with their trumpet, so they'll be one of them. I have a violinist – Anathema, I think you'll like her – I of course will be on piano, we'll need to find a drummer. I have the budget and we could get a few more people if you think we should.”</p>
<p>“That'd be nice.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale pulled a grumpy face and Crowley figured he'd said something wrong. “Nice?” Aziraphale repeated.</p>
<p>“Sorry. Sorry. It's more than nice. It's fantastic – brilliant, really. You worked really hard to pull this off and I'm – is it odd to say I'm proud of you, Angel?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled fondly at the nickname. “I should hope you would be the most proud of me,” Aziraphale puffed himself up. “Imagine, my own boyfriend not being proud of what I've accomplished.”</p>
<p>Crowley nearly spit his sushi out.</p>
<p>“Boyfriend?” He croaked.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's face went red. “Oh. Oh dear. Did I misinterpret? I mean... you've been calling me 'angel' for so long, and I've called you 'dear' for years without you complaining or asking me to stop. And the Valentine's presents. Crowley, I'm so sorry, I-I thought-”</p>
<p>“No, no, stop!” Crowley held his hands up. “We didn't discuss it. I've...” he couldn't help it. He started laughing. Aziraphale was making that absurd, puffed up face that said he was annoyed. He looked a little like a pigeon. Once Crowley was able to calm himself, he continued. “I've been in love with you for years. And you accepted the gifts but we never talked about it. So – how was I to know?”</p>
<p>“Oh dear. You're quite right, of course. And – I you. I mean, I've been in love with you for years as well. I thought I had spelled it out in the music but I suppose I never told you those songs were about you.”</p>
<p>“All those loves songs I've been singing are about myself?” Crowley chuckled. “Almost makes them seem conceited now, huh? I've been trying to sing them about you.”</p>
<p>Now it was Aziraphale's turn to look amused. “You thought lyrics about 'hide your eyes from me, fire-headed love' were about me instead of you?”</p>
<p>“I thought it was – what's the word? Allegorical? Metaphor? Yeah, metaphor.” Crowley made sure his eyes were still hidden behind his glasses now. He was smiling so much his cheeks were starting to hurt but at least right now Aziraphale couldn't fully see the sappy look Crowley was giving him.</p>
<p>“I thought all of these were dates,” Aziraphale admitted, his voice soft. “We really should have talked about all this sooner.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that's on both of us, Angel. We both made a bunch of assumptions instead of just talking it out. I think we're both better at letting the music speak for us, eh?” he sung softly then:</p>
<p>
  <em>But this time together is beautiful,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>No matter how fleeting it may be</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And I hope that I may be one who's suitable</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Perfectly suited to you</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Who is so perfectly suited to me</em>
</p>
<p>Aziraphale's smile grew even wider. “That's the one I wrote when I knew I was in love with you.”</p>
<p>Crowley laughed, practically barking. “It's the one that made me realize I was still in love with you,” He explained. “I fell in love with you when you saved me from that instrument avalanche. Hadn't stopped thinking of you since, Angel.”</p>
<p>“I don't suppose-” Aziraphale joined Crowley on the couch, “You'd be interested in a er- kiss?”</p>
<p>Crowley leaned in and met him eagerly. The kiss was soft, chaste. But it said everything they hadn't spoken off until that moment. Crowley felt it all the way down into his stomach and he gave Aziraphale another quick peck after they broke apart.</p>
<p>Aziraphale stood up and grabbed his phone, immediately typing into it.</p>
<p>“Oh c'mon, we have all night with each other, what are you doing on that bloody thing?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale blushed. “I have a new song idea.”</p>
<p>Crowley threw up his hands. “Well,we are music makers, I guess it's part of the business. Go on, then. Seems we'll have a long time later to snog.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale gave Crowley another kiss. “So we shall, my dear. So we shall.”</p>
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